


Harvest

by lachlanrose



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Feral, Smut, adult, shipper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachlanrose/pseuds/lachlanrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Uninhibited doesn’t even begin to describe it.  Even that word seems too tame.  It seems to lack that certain something, that shameless, unapologetic frenzied wallowing in ecstasy.”  The Wolverine and the Rogue let go after a mission in Perugia.  W/R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Mine! All mine! Oh, wait... Dammit. 
> 
> Feedback: Is better than sex. Well, not the kinda sex the Wolverine likes to have... Heh. The good. The bad. The ugly, welcome… Flames may be (enthusiastically) given a central claw salute. 
> 
> Author’s notes: Sorry, y’all. I needed a break from Shine because I just realized I have written nothing else for almost YEAR. No wonder my WolverineMuse is climbing the walls and demanding all kinds of dirty little one-offs. If he gets his way (and, let’s face it, we all know he will) this is likely the first of many. A huge thanks to Doctorg for the crazy fast beta after I totally hit her with this from left field last night. You rock, lady! As for the fic itself, all my usual disclaimers apply. It’s adult in theme and content. Yadda Yadda. Citrus. Bad words. Horny Wolverine. Apples. Set in the Run universe. You have been warned! Onward.

**Harvest**

 

Nobody really plans it. You can't plan a thing like that. It is the very definition of spontaneity. And it certainly can't be tamed or forced into anything resembling even the slightest inkling of propriety. Or reservation. Or decency. Uninhibited doesn't even begin to describe it. Even that word seems too tame. It seems to lack that certain _something_ , that shameless, unapologetic frenzied wallowing in ecstasy.

Sex. That raunchy, intimate, grab and grunt and grind kind of sex. The kind that makes you forget everything but the fire in your blood. No boundaries exist to be crossed. No shred of modesty remains to fuel embarrassment. There is nothing you want that you can't have, no act too lewd, no words too dirty.

It was in a word... _excessive_.

A state where passion consumes you so tightly in its fierce grip that things like reason and control and responsibility are less than meaningless. Worldly inhibitions are rendered void and all that's left are the most primal drives, like some Dionysian ritual of old where the veneer of humanity is cast aside and instinct takes over, drawing you down, deeper and deeper into some labyrinth of wine and tragedy and ecstasy as you writhe together in madness and desire, down into the pit, through the fire and into the exquisite stillness on the other side.

You see? I totally did pay attention in Mr. Summers' history class.

All in all, not quite how I imagined the evening would wind up. I certainly hadn't been thinking of it while I dressed for dinner. Logan either. He was his usual self, breezing around in a state of casual undress, wearing socks and a dress shirt that he did up with his typical carelessness, unaware that the pink tip of his penis was peeping at me from under the hem every time he raised his arms.

God, I love men.

Dinner was a romantic affair. Nothing too swanky. A table on an outdoor terrace and the talk of lovers, eating _Merluzzo Dorato_ (Fish with lemon sauce... my Italian is improving!) while we watched the moon rise over a couple bottles of _Val di Cornia Suvereto Rosso_. And of course, lemon ice for dessert.

It was a pleasant evenin', but not one I would have ever imagined would turn out like it did. We were away from home. Both of us had traveled the world pretty extensively, but neither of us had been here and I'd always wanted to see Italy. Rome. Naples. Positano. Logan had surprised me with tickets for my birthday.

We'd been here a week when we got a message from Storm. She did love those joint missions. Liaising with the locals; kind of an annoying trademark of hers. Mutant networking on a global scale. Logan and I aren't exactly the building bridges type, but we're also not the type to leave kids in trouble, either. The mission required Logan's specific set of skills, and so Storm had called him north to Perugia. When it was over he'd sent for me.

Tonight's hotel was more decadent than the others had been. Our room was very grand, full of luxurious fabrics, rich tapestries and thick carpets... marble and granite and crystal. It had fresh, fragrant white flowers in a big vase, voile curtains that let in the gorgeous light and a bowl of fresh fruit on a lacquered ebony coffee table. It was quite lovely, though both of us found it a bit amusing, considering how simply we usually live in our little alpine cabin back home. It felt a bit like we were playing dress-up, like two naughty children who'd invaded their parents' inner sanctum.

And it was yet another reason neither of us had imagined the night would take such an unexpected turn. It was one of those places that brought to mind those stiffly formal rooms of an elderly relative. You know what I mean, especially if you're from the South. The kind where you don't even dare touch anything, much less sit on the furniture, for fear of gettin' a hidin'.

Who imagines havin' insane sex in a room like _that_?

I'm not quite sure how it happened, actually. Dinner was lovely. We took a long leisurely walk through the cobbled streets afterwards, holding hands and talkin' softly. We had a bit of a private laugh when we returned to our room. Our beat-up packs sitting open on the antique dresser seemed to be mocking us, an unsightly blight spoiling the pristine elegance of the room.

We were both tired... me from the drive north and him from the mission.

After the day we'd had, I had kinda imagined a quiet evening, maybe reading to each other or taking a long relaxing bath... It had looked to be shaping up that way at first. We'd unwound in that casual way lovers have, wandering around in various states of undress. Asking for help with a zipper or a stubborn button, unconcerned with our nakedness and taking only the most passive interest in the skin on display.

He was lounging on the bed. I was rummaging around through his pack to find the bag of toiletries where I knew he kept a bottle of scented oil. We use it for bathing and for massage, and occasionally for more intimate purposes. (Sometimes just for fun and sometimes because he's a big man and an... _enthusiastic_... lover, with pretty much endless stamina... You get the picture, I'm sure.)

There are days I happily wonder if I will ever walk again.

I can't even say exactly what sparked it off. Maybe it was something about how I bent over, a little shimmy and a flash of pink as I dug out the oil. Maybe it was a stray dirty thought or a scent that just spoke to him. Maybe it was just a random rush of blood meeting opportunity. One moment we were these two inert placid people who were simply enjoying a quiet evening together. The next we were two wild things rolling around on the carpet as we struggled to devour each other.

It was hard to believe we even had the energy for such an encounter and I couldn't imagine where the deep well of feeling we were calling on had hidden itself all day long. Surely if we'd been so close to erupting we'd have noticed? And yet I think it took both of us by surprise.

He felt unstoppable. Strong. Virile. Unapologetic in his mastery of me. I wondered how I felt to him. Like a bundle of wet rags, I imagine. He is so strong. I am too with Carol's gifts, but in the moment, it's easy to forget, to let our history and our physical differences color our expectations. It was erotic and confusing. I wanted to fight his intrusion, it was too intense, too much... and at the same time, I couldn't get close enough.

I struggled and writhed to get away even as I pressed my face into his thick neck and mouthed the sweaty skin in supplication as I moaned against the force of his assault. I bit him and he grunted hard. I was shocked when I pulled back with a gasp to taste the metallic tang of his blood in my mouth. And then my gasp changed to a low cry when I felt his teeth on my neck.

As he thudded into me, I thought how confusing it must be for him too. Like wrestling with an orchid. He wanted with such desperation and yet, too much force and he risked damaging the very thing he most desired. At least, he still thinks that way, sometimes. Especially when he's like this. He forgets I'm not that little girl he remembers. He forgets what I can do now, and sometimes we both like that.

His hips bucked and surged powerfully, bringing him into my body again and again. It was an orgy of sensation. The slick slide of his sweaty, hair-roughened skin. The weight and scent of his body. The raw stinging where the carpet had abraded our skin. Teeth on my neck again. Sharp. Out of control. Goosebumps rising through the sweat at the wet suction of his mouth. A cry from me that only spurred him on, driving him to suck harder until the bruised pleasure swelled into a full body shiver of exquisite agony.

His words were all but gone. All that remained was fierce growls and deep, rough grunts. Hisses when my teeth found his golden skin and broken curses as I shoved at him. It was that wild frantic kind of sex where you turn your face away even as you open your legs wider and dig your nails into the surging, flexing muscles... even when you know your body can't take any more of him. He is too big and you are too small and the thudding ecstasy goes on and on until you're twisting to get free and the noose seems to tighten the more you struggle... it was all just so much. Somehow too much and not enough.

There was more... hearing his prideful roar as he felt me tighten up and come around him again. Feeling the magnificent press of his powerful body. Rolling and thrashing and trying to get free, because I like to remind him I'm not without my own power in all this, and frankly, I like how it feels when he shows me his strength. A hand gripping my ankle hard. A rough jerking and then friction and heat as I slid helplessly over the carpet. His growl of triumph as he flipped me and pinned my hands, ramming himself back in to the one true place he could always call home.

Mindless euphoria. Gasping. Great ragged breaths. Fingers threaded in his thick hair. Adrenaline and ecstasy and the wild surge in the fierce pounding of my blood that blocked out almost everything. Burning alive in my own pleasure, I barely registered more than the heavy weight pinning me down and the bruised throbbing deep inside me, driving me further and further into the flames. It seemed a litany. _Almost there... almost... almost..._

He slowed. The fire retreated slightly. My ears hurt. Had he bellowed? Had I? My throat was dry, whether from panting or shouting I wasn't sure. He seemed to have stopped fighting me. His stillness was maddening. It made the ache inside me so much sharper. _Almost... almost...almost..._ With every throb inside my body the screaming litany seemed to get louder.

The heavy press of his hot sweaty body eased and I slipped away, rolling to my knees. Someone was humming with need. I think it was me. Without shame, I did my best to entice him, dropping my chest low, legs open, waving my ass at him. I was desperate to come but even more desperate to feel the weight of his body draped over mine once more. I can't explain my need for that or what made it so incredibly satisfying. It had so many different elements. It made me feel... safe. Excited. Powerful. Aroused. Dominated. Protected. There was something animal about it. And also something divinely human too. Something so much finer than anything we could ever do with just our bodies.

He crawled to me and fell over me heavily. I groaned. His big warm bulk covering me was exactly what I wanted. And inside, I was still throbbing. _Almost... almost... almost..._ I rubbed back against his wet groin and felt his wild heartbeat against my back. His hips rocked against me in torment. I could feel his cock, not penetrating me... just rubbing idly back and forth between my cheeks, teasing both the sensitive skin there and weeping whorls of my sex below.

His hands were braced on the floor on the outside of mine. I heard his rough sigh in my ear the same moment I realized he was softening. Had I been so far inside my own pleasure that I had missed him finding his?

I looked down and realized I could see the pearly proof of his pleasure running down the inside of my thigh. In my frantic state, I almost couldn't make sense of it. I felt the tickle of his soft beard rub against me as he nuzzled my cheek.

"M'done." It came out in a lethargic, if somewhat regretful, rumble. He was spent.

"I'm not."

It was honesty born of extreme sexual hunger. And after the raw openness we'd just shared, was there wasn't anything I was too embarrassed to say to him.

He chuckled and we sort of both collapsed to the ground, rolling a bit until I found myself under him once more. I was surprised to find we'd somehow managed to become wedged in the small space between the divan and the coffee table. When had we gotten _there_? The feeling of being trapped was exciting. To say nothing of the naughty little thrill I had thinking we'd probably just had it off over the pristine divan that was upholstered in a pale green raw silk fabric.

The carpet was soft and cushy under my back and against my left shoulder I could feel the hard lacquered leg of the coffee table. And of course, above me, I felt the glorious sprawl of a spent male body, hairy and sweaty and warm, content to simply rest upon his woman's soft curves.

I squirmed, too uncomfortably close to orgasm to enjoy the restful leisure I seemed to have found myself in. Hazel eyes glittered down at me. His flesh might be spent for the moment, but his spirit was more than willing. He was still as caught up in the violent pleasure as I was. Just knowing he was there with me in the moment made me shiver against his big body. He's an unpredictable lover at the best of times; earthy and capable of a blunt crudeness I find incredibly appealing.

But even though we're not new lovers, I was still unprepared for what he did next. With a grunt and a rough push, he knocked my legs apart and reached over me, plucking a small green apple from the dish on the coffee table. I watched enthralled with shock and anticipation as he dangled the apple over me by the stem and then placed it between my breasts, adding a bit of force with his fingers to press it tightly against my flesh. It was cold. Hard. Shiny and smooth. He started to roll it down and down...

I thought of all the times we'd fed each other slices of tart-sweet apples while we read to each other. I thought of Eve tempting Adam. I thought, with my heart in my throat, that he couldn't possibly be intending to do what it looked like he was going to do...

I was wrong.

He rolled the apple straight down until he was holding it between my legs. Pressing it against me. I writhed. He held me fast and pressed harder. I think I gasped. We both knew it wouldn't fit _there_. I could barely manage his girth, and the apple, though small, was quite a bit larger than even his impressive organ. And it was not nearly as forgiving as flesh and blood. I felt a few moments of real fear, wondering if maybe this uninhibited play had called forth too black a beast... And then I flushed under his knowing gaze, feeling foolish for ever imagining he would hurt me.

He called my name, shifting to look into my eyes from where he was kneeling between my parted thighs. "Tell me whatcha feel, darlin'."

The languor on his face had been replaced by a rough insistence. The erotic visual was exciting him. His pleasure was rising again. He put the slightest bit more pressure on the apple, forcing it a fraction of an inch further into the mouth of my vagina, stretching the delicate tissue even more. I writhed, flushed and trembling.

"Tell me." This time it was a command not a request... and his fingers traced the sleek distended petals of my sex in a soft caress. A tickling flutter that drove me mad.

"Cold... Smooth." The cold hard skin of the fruit was oddly soothing to my raw, throbbing skin. "Pressure." The blunt pressure of it stretching just the very entrance felt good, assuaging the ache while at the same time, making me crave a very different sort of penetration. It pushed me out of myself. A high of pleasure and endorphins and mindless desire for my mate and what he could make my body do.

"Watch me." When I didn't respond he shook me, nipping at the skin on the inside of my knee and coaxing more pearly fluid to drip around the hard fruit. "Watch me!" I saw his head dip down and felt the wet drag of his tongue, warm and soft as it teased along the seam of flesh and fruit. He bit down hard. I flinched.

His teeth made a crisp sharp sound as they bit deep into the white flesh of the apple and he lifted his head, arousal and amusement dancing in his eyes above the apple he still held in his strong white teeth. I could feel the chuckle rumble in his chest as he crunched through the apple and chewed the enormous bite with relish. Sweet juice dripped down his chin and fell in cold drops onto my stomach. He made absolutely no effort to catch a single one of them.

I moaned at the erotic display and the apple dropped from his fingers to roll away under the divan. My legs were clamped together, already missing the pressure of the apple. I was dying, needing release more than ever and nearly ready to end this game of ours by slipping my own hand down to put out the fire raging wildly in my blood.

Swooping up, he lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss tasted sharply of tart apple. The juice was sticky around his mouth and under that flavor, I could taste the faint musk of my own arousal. I moaned into his mouth and he let me go, grabbing for my hands with a growled rebuke when they slipped down between my legs. He knocked them away roughly.

"No."

I think I sobbed. The fiery ache was burning me alive. I begged for him; his mouth... his hands... the feel of his body. Anything. _Anything_. And there, trapped between the divan and the coffee table, I had his answer. It wasn't his mouth or his hands I felt. It was the trickle of scented oil.

My eyes flickered open. He'd retrieved the bottle I'd taken from his suitcase moments before this whole wild encounter had started. I barely remember setting it aside when he first grabbed me up. Shivering, I closed my eyes again as I felt the slow creep of oil, spotty at first on my belly and thighs and then a heavier trickle between my legs. Then a splash and his curse and I felt what must have been half the bottle pour thickly on my groin and creep slowly down my whorls and folds to pool under my back.

I barely had time to think before his hands followed it, smearing it without hesitation across my belly and thighs, pushing it inside of me and slipping his hands into every crevice and dip that he could find. Everything goes a little hazy after that... I remember turning my face away, trying to scramble back from the exquisite torment and then feeling the heavy weight of his body pinning me down. Forcing the pleasure on me. Slipping his fingers in, massaging deeply only to pull them out just when I was on the brink.

I remember begging until my voice was hoarse. Moaning like a whore for him. Worse than that, really. At least they have some sense that what they're doing is beyond the scope of acceptability. I was beyond even that. I simply _wanted._

One of the sexiest things about Logan is that he has absolutely no modern notions of propriety. The animal simply doesn't care. One hand held me down tightly while his oily fingers slipped out of my vagina and down, teasing and massaging the tight ring of muscle below. He is quite without any reservations about anal sex and the groan of pleasure he made as his fingers pressed inside was wholly primal and utterly decadent. There was no embarrassment. No hesitation. Just an obscene amount of pleasure on both our parts.

I had my face turned away and for one surreal moment I opened my eyes and saw the green apple had rolled away under the divan and then he was hauling me up and throwing me roughly down over the padded mint-green silk, without a shred of remorse as our oily skin instantly ruined the gorgeous upholstery.

But within moments, I was beyond caring. He was hard again. I could feel his hands, one steadying me in the center of my back, holding me in place. The other was oiling his erection. I could believe he was aroused, but even with his mutation, to have another erection so soon after what we'd just done? It was beyond comprehension. And then I was beyond thought as he pushed both his cock and his fingers into me with the rudest, dirtiest grunt I think I've ever heard a man make in my life.

What followed was pure sex. Raw. Unflinching. Deeply gratifying, satisfyingly primal sex. He growled out to me to touch myself. I did. He did too, the tendons in his thick forearm tensioned like cables as he worked me. I came with such force the world swam before my eyes and blackness encroached on the edges of my consciousness. When the world had righted itself, I realized he was still ramming away behind me, his body heavy and sweaty where it was draped over my back. I couldn't move. Could hardly breathe. And I came again. And then again. My flesh stung. I thought I would pass out from exertion and pleasure.

It was the kind of sex where you're aching and your muscles are screaming in agony as you push yourself harder and harder toward that desperate release that you're really too exhausted to reach but still you can't make yourself stop trying. It's agony. Almost more like work than pleasure... and then when you finally get there the relief is so sharp and flooding that you disconnect from the world.

I barely remember it. Just bits and pieces mostly. His last shuddering hitching thrust. A hoarse bellow. A hand pulling my hair. Hard. The crushing weight of him slumping against me. Falling back down to the carpet. The surreal sight of the rest of the fruit rolling away in every direction from the overturned bowl when Logan's heavy body crashed into the coffee table on his way down.

We were a mess. Sweat and semen and saliva and oil... Smears of all of passion's flavors anointed our exhausted bodies. If we were normal, our skin would have been stinging and sore, pink with exertion and rug burns, and marred with bites and scratches and the early purpling of bruising kisses, but between us we had invulnerability and healing and the sweet ache of a thousand remembered kisses. We carried our bruises on the inside.

Unexpectedly, tears blurred my vision. I know it sounds stupid and trite, but I'm no stranger to death and I found myself thinking if it took me just then, replete and wrapped up in the arms of my lover...

It wasn't hard to blink away the tears before he noticed. He was flopped over me, his head resting on my spine, thick arms wrapped around my hips. I rested my head on my folded arms with a languorous sigh. He pressed a soft kiss to the small of my back and I heard him chuckle hoarsely.

"The cage is a breeze in comparison to entertainin' you, kid."

I giggled, too tired to turn over. "I can't walk."

Logan snorted. "Me either."

"Wuss."

He bit me playfully and then rubbed his face tiredly against my skin, like he does on the bedsheets at home when he's come back exhausted from a mission. The boyishness of the gesture made me smile. I'm not sure how long we lay there recovering... but we did eventually rise. He cursed and rubbed his shoulder where it had crashed into the coffee table and then winced as he cupped his aching droop of his genitals in one big hand. Sometimes the ache lingered, even with the healing. His expression said it was a small price to pay. I agree. I laughed and then shivered at the resulting trickle of spent semen that leaked from me to run down my leg. He chuckled softly. I swayed on my feet, unused to such excess.

I suppose it would be more romantic to say he swung me into his arms and carried me to bed where we slept like the dead, but the truth is we pushed and pulled each other groaning and giggling to the bathroom where we took a long relaxing (and much needed) bath.

Our toes wrinkled. I lazed. He snored.

When we finally did make it to bed... what do you know? We carried each other.

And when sleep came, we dreamed of silk. And apples.

 

* * *

Feedback is love!

 **Author's notes:** Okay, y'all. I know I've been off the radar for a while. Sorry. My RL is out of control and apparently the aftermath of the wisdom tooth thing is jacking up my writing mojo. (Also, it's seriously impossible to write good smut when you feel like you've been punched in the mouth.) I'm all better now, but when I sat down to write, all the stuff that I'd put on the back burner while I worked to finish Shine just totally boiled over like WHOA. There was just no stopping it. Who am I to argue with the Wolverine, hey? )

There is so much coming in the pipeline! The bunnies are biting for Holding Ground II, for another (smutty) installment of Other Ways of Speaking and possibly even more In Limine. (Motion to Compel? Motion to Quash? Writ of Execution?) My brain is buzzing with possibilities! Damn, my WolverineMuse is a surly, demanding bastard (with a one track mind, apparently!)

Confession: I also started a new story. It doesn't have a title yet but in a nutshell it goes like: _"_ _What has been seen cannot be unseen. In response, the Wolverine makes the Rogue an unexpected offer. Her choice is unorthodox, and the addictive results quickly blaze out of control."_ It's definitely a messier type of story where our two favorite people have to live with the (questionable) choices they've made and the baggage that comes with that. I have to say I really like those morally ambiguous kinda stories…

My beta says she thinks it might wind up being the best one yet. We'll see, hey? She read the first chapter and I gave her the story pitch and she was all, "Um, you know this is barrelling so far out of PWP territory, right?" FML. lol I'm three chapters in and hoping it it stops in the 10 chapter range. No more novels for a while!

Also, I WILL be finishing Shine. I'm hoping to wrap that up before the end of the year. Sorry for all those who've been waiting. I really want to be sure I do those last chapters the justice they deserve after a 1 year/60 chapter build up. Every time I go to write it though, something else comes out instead. What the hell is up with that?

In any event, to wrap up the longest notes I think I've written to date, in addition to the end of Shine, up next:

 **Compass  
** The morning after. In love and out of step. A revealing look at how the Wolverine and the Rogue find equilibrium again after several weeks apart. W/R (one-shot)

 **Sanctuary  
** A girl alone on a snowy road needs a ride. She offers up the only thing she has of value to trade: herself. An alternative look at how Rogue's first meeting with the Wolverine might have gone if she'd had to talk her way into his truck instead of hiding in his trailer. W/R AU (3 chapters? 4? Dunno yet)

 **Walk the Line  
** Marie comes back after taking the Cure. "She'd always defend him though, even now – powerless and helpless, and they both knew it. It didn't even need saying. The care of this beautiful man was written in her bones." 9 chapters (at least 4 more to go)

So, whatcha wanna see next? Now taking suggestions!


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